<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Warm Day In the Third Circle by Kat_Rowe</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663643">A Warm Day In the Third Circle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Rowe/pseuds/Kat_Rowe'>Kat_Rowe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Who Needs Heaven (when we have each other)? [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"nice" is a four-letter word, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Baking, Bathing/Washing, Cold Weather, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is not a pine tree in this fic, Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Emotional Intimacy, Emotional Vulnerability, Feeding, Flirting, Flour Bombs, Hair Washing, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Naked Cuddling, Sensuality, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Verbal teasing, Vulnerable Crowley (Good Omens), bathing together, because he is oozing ALL the sap right now, but emotions are HARD, but he is definitely SOME kind of tree, friends make the best lovers, hair petting, kitchen disasters, saying "I love you" without words</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:29:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Rowe/pseuds/Kat_Rowe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(A fic in which it is acknowledged that what you want isn't always as wonderful as what you already have.</p>
<p>Also a fic in which a great deal of gluttony occurs. Gluttony for food, gluttony for touch, and gluttony for the sensation of being deeply and completely loved.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For reasons best not explored too closely, Crowley and Aziraphale are covered in flour and bits of pastry dough. A shared bath seems like the only natural response to this turn of events. Crowley being Crowley, alcohol is involved. Aziraphale being Aziraphale, so are sweets. </p>
<p>Their relationship is changing, and so are they. Things that wouldn't have been possible a few months ago have become commonplace. Crowley finds a lot of it overwhelming, but being overwhelmed isn't always a bad thing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Who Needs Heaven (when we have each other)? [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Warm Day In the Third Circle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So sorry for the delay between posting the last part of the series and this one. Reality happened, two words which also sum up the past year perfectly. The next entry in the series is already well underway, so the delay shouldn’t be as long between this fic and the next. Things are ramping up emotionally between our ineffable idiots, and I am so excited for it. Hopefully you all are as well. </p>
<p>The chocolate shop in Mexico is entirely a product of my own imagination, although I can assure you all from experience that Mexican chocolate is divine. Maison Bertaux, the bakery mentioned, <i>is</i> real, and the oldest bakery in Soho. Many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dria_Tarian/profile">Dria_Tarian</a> for bringing it to my attention. Because, really, where else would Aziraphale turn for his pastry needs.<br/>I also need to thank Dria for being willing to have an open discussion with me about feeding kinks and the emotional significance of feeding in some relationships. There’s no outright kink in the fic (I think), but Crowley is definitely aware of the sexual symbolism of being fed by Aziraphale, although that almost instantly gets lost in the emotional significance the moment holds for him. </p>
<p>A thousand thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgaine2005">morgaine2005</a> for both the beta job and for listening to me endlessly ramble, speculate, and plot. Everyone needs a filthy enabler from time to time, and she has definitely been one to me.</p>
<p>Also, I am just overwhelmed by this fandom and everyone I’ve met in it. You are all awesome. Thank you for staying with me and for being so uniformly positive and supportive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>CONTENT WARNING:</b> minor sexualized feeding<br/><b>CONTENT WARNING:</b> brief, almost-graphic allusions to oral sex</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With winter still in full swing, and London doing its best impression of Dante’s third circle, Crowley seldom left his flat. But, unlike previous winters, he didn’t mind in the least, not when Aziraphale visited for at least a few hours every day and often stayed the night as well. It was hard to complain about the cold and solitude when his favorite angel kept him warm and was always proposing new activities to stave off the boredom. Granted, some of Aziraphale’s proposed time-killers would have had the Golden Girls turning up their noses; puzzles and knitting had both been proposed and summarily rejected. But some were a lot of fun, especially after a few drinks. Crowley would never admit to enjoying some of the card and board games the angel brought over, but their drunken attempts to copy the Two Step from a video online had ended with them in a giggling pile on the floor, followed by some very nice kissing on the sofa. </p>
<p>Today’s chosen activity, baking, had likewise ended in helpless laughter. No kissing, alas, but the tartlets they’d made smelled absolutely delicious. Every one of the little pastries, apple for Crowley and pear for Aziraphale, looked at least a little wonky as the tray was removed from the never-before-used oven. A sad start to the career of a 20,000 quid appliance. Worse, his sleek, pristine kitchen looked like someone had detonated a flour bomb or two inside, then flung around bits of raw dough for good measure. Crowley suspected that his own hair looked as white as Aziraphale’s now, but the kitchen’s stainless steel surfaces were too dusty for him to get a good look at himself. Which was probably just as well. He could guess how he looked just by glancing at his normally-immaculate companion, as covered in flour and pastry as the rest of the room. And Crowley had been much closer to Pastrygeddon’s epicenter.</p>
<p>“Next time you fancy sweets, angel, maybe I should just pop down to Maison Bertaux,” he teased, grinning as Aziraphale stared at the misshapen tartlets with a slightly bemused expression. </p>
<p>“But that’s not as fun as making our own together,” Aziraphale pointed out with a grin, absently rubbing his cheek with the back of one hand and leaving a patch of blushing pink skin visible under the heavy coating of flour. “I enjoy doing these things with you. Besides,” he added, tone turning mock-prim, “you’d hardly thank me for sending you outside in weather like this.”</p>
<p>“Angel, I walked into fire for you,” he protested, laying a hand dramatically over his heart and trying not to grimace at the gritty feel of flour on his shirt. “I think I can be trusted to endure a little slush.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale stared in shock for a moment at Crowley’s casual reference to their ‘trials’ at the hands of Heaven and Hell. Then, in a reaction that wouldn’t have been possible even a few months ago, he gave a little wiggle of delight and lapsed into helpless laughter, turning from the tartlets and collapsing against Crowley. </p>
<p>“My love,” he whispered into Crowley’s shoulder as the fit of mirth passed, sighing happily. “My love, I would <em> never </em> ask you to endure the cold for my sake, not even for the pleasure of warming you up again afterwards.” Smiling fondly up at him, Aziraphale added, “You’re a mess. Whatever were you thinking?”</p>
<p>“That a stand mixer is designed to <em> mix</em>, not to distribute its contents evenly for several meters in every direction!” he grumbled, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling, either. </p>
<p>The angel laughed again, beaming up at him. “Flour is a powder, my dear. You can’t put the mixer on its highest setting and not expect such a result. Besides, didn’t I tell you it would be better to do by hand?”</p>
<p>“Stop gloating,” Crowley whimpered, pretending to look wounded. </p>
<p>“Well, you must admit that, as always, an attempt not to dirty your own hands by actually working has backfired quite spectacularly,” Aziraphale answered, smiling sweetly.</p>
<p>Crowley choked, staring. “You smug bastard! You knew what would happen when I turned on that stupid mixer and you didn’t warn me on purpose!” he accused, picking up a dish-towel and brandishing it threateningly. </p>
<p>Smirking, the angel told him, “I don’t know what you mean, my dear. Anyway, what are you going to do with that? Dust the flour from my hair? See to the motes in thine own first,” he advised primly. “I haven’t seen it in such a state since Versailles.”</p>
<p>“Euek,” Crowley answered, grimacing at the memory of wig-powder and white lead. “Is it that bad?”</p>
<p>“No, my dear, it’s not bad. It’s <em> worse</em>,” Aziraphale chuckled, gently taking him by the hand and drawing him away from the counter. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” </p>
<p>Smiling, Crowley let himself be led into his bathroom. Having gotten a faceful of flour was more than worth it, if it netted him a nice warm shower with his angel. He could already feel those strong, gentle fingers working shampoo through his hair and hear Aziraphale’s little hums of pleasure as he worked. Their relationship may have been sexless thus far, but the angel was a shameless sensualist and had been since a certain demon had introduced him to honey cakes in a sun-soaked Mesopotamian field. Crowley was perfectly content with the current state of their relationship. Aziraphale had never shrunk from physicality in their relationship, not once they’d agreed on what it was. In fact, their growing romance had made him <em> more </em> comfortable expressing that side of himself and, after 6,000 years of studied formality and carefully-maintained discipline, it was beautiful to watch the angel let down his barriers and just enjoy life for a change. And, of course, it was marvelous to be the one responsible. </p>
<p>Aziraphale quickly unbuttoned and peeled off Crowley’s shirt, laughing and fingering the line where bare skin met a dusting of flour so uniform it resembled an inverted tan-line. And, oh, bless it all, there was no sound in the world as beautiful to Crowley as that easy laughter.</p>
<p>“Look at you, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, tone almost reverent as his fingers played lightly against Crowley’s warm skin. “You’re ridiculous.” </p>
<p>“And you <em> love </em> it,” he countered, fingers working the angel’s bowtie loose.</p>
<p>“Oh, I do. I love it very much indeed,” he breathed, allowing his bowtie to be removed and his shirt unbuttoned before reaching for Crowley’s belt buckle.</p>
<p>With any other person, that would have been the signal for things to heat up, but Aziraphale was not just anyone. His movements remained careful and deliberate as he finished undressing Crowley, and the kisses and caresses he gifted Crowley with while his own trousers were removed were more tender than passionate. Which was fine with Crowley. Aziraphale’s physical affection was never hurried or desperate, but his quiet intensity more than made up for that. Even the gentlest of his touches left Crowley feeling profoundly desired and appreciated in ways that left him weak in the knees. If they also occasionally left him needing to shut down nerve impulses to certain parts of his body, to avoid alarming the angel with any untoward physical reactions, that was a small price to pay.</p>
<p>As he always did, Aziraphale turned on and tested the water in the shower before drawing Crowley into the stall. Jets of hot water buffeted him from all directions, washing away the flour and working soothing, euphoric heat into his muscles. It felt amazing, and he couldn’t resist the urge to draw his angel close and share a firm, lingering kiss with him. There was something addictive in hearing Aziraphale’s soft sighs and feeling those plump lips curving into a smile under Crowley’s own. </p>
<p>“Here, my love,” Aziraphale whispered as they broke the kiss, reaching for a bottle of body wash and a sponge. “Let’s get you clean.” </p>
<p>“If you insist,” he agreed lazily, turning away and bracing his hands against the wall of the shower stall. </p>
<p>“You have the most beautiful body,” Aziraphale murmured, gently scrubbing his back and shoulders and not shying away from the most tender spots.</p>
<p>“Careful, angel,” Crowley warned, smiling to himself. “You’ll make my wings pop, and there’s really not room for that in here.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’ll manage to control yourself,” he chuckled, but he moved the sponge to the back of Crowley’s neck and left his tingling shoulders alone. </p>
<p>Making a soft noise of agreement, Crowley nodded, closing his eyes and angling his head towards a jet of water cascaded over his face, washing away the flour. It felt wonderful, the hot water coupled with Aziraphale’s gentle care, and Crowley stood there in easy silence, savoring every moment. Little gestures like this, after so many years of being kept at arm’s length, warmed Crowley in a way that blazing fires, hot drinks, and heavy blankets never had. He moaned when Aziraphale started working shampoo into his hair, turning his head into the touches. The angel’s fingers were large, and far stronger than they looked, but infinitely tender as they worked the suds into Crowley’s hair, washing and massaging at once. </p>
<p>“I need to set off flour bombs more often,” he informed Aziraphale, turning and smiling at him. </p>
<p>“Crowley, if you want me to wash your hair, you need only ask,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “No need to make a mess of yourself first. Now hold still and let me work.”</p>
<p>Mumbling his response, he closed his eyes again, reveling in the heat of the shower and in Aziraphale’s loving touches. The angel was surprisingly good at expressing his affection physically, now that he was comfortable with the idea. It was amazing to realize that, only a few months ago, poor Aziraphale had been flinching away from the idea of their mutual desire, and genuinely afraid of the implications of pursuing it, despite their newfound freedom. Now, though…</p>
<p>Now, they’d quickly reached a point where they could crowd together into a shower stall, where Aziraphale could scrub Crowley’s body, wash his hair, rinse him clean, then press close, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist and pressing his nose into the hollow of Crowley’s throat, their bare bodies nestled comfortably together as they just enjoyed being close. Smiling, Crowley buried his own nose in the angel’s hair, ignoring the wet, gritty flour and focusing instead on the warm, sunny scent that was uniquely Aziraphale’s. Other smells clung to him as well, of course, pastry and aftershave and just a hint of sweat in the heat of the shower stall, but there was no hiding the familiar note underlying the rest. His angel. <em> Home. </em></p>
<p>They stood in perfect silence for what could have been minutes or hours; it hardly mattered when their skin didn’t wrinkle and when his water-heater wouldn’t dare give out on them mid-shower. Aziraphale’s arms were still around his waist when he reached for the shampoo, and the angel grumbled and refused to lift his face from Crowley’s chest as his hair was washed and then rinsed. Even as Crowley returned the shower-head to its hook, Aziraphale continued to gently cling to him, letting out the soft, peaceful sigh of a man who was comfortable where he was and had no intention of moving any time soon. </p>
<p>“Are we going to stay here <em> all </em> afternoon, angel?” he chuckled finally.</p>
<p>“Mmm, why not?” Aziraphale asked, lifting his head just enough to smile up at Crowley. “The water’s so warm…”</p>
<p>“Let’s at least move to the bath?” he suggested, gently disengaging himself from his lover’s embrace and gesturing. “We’ll open a bottle of wine and relax?”</p>
<p>A wide, eager smile lit the angel’s face at Crowley’s suggestion, and he nodded quickly. “Oh, yes, how lovely! And we can have those tarts, too.” Smile turning sheepish, he added, “They don’t look particularly good, but they should taste pleasant enough.” </p>
<p>“I think they will,” he agreed, nodding and shutting off the shower. “Run our bath and I’ll go grab them?” </p>
<p>“No. Best let me, my dear,” Aziraphale suggested, shaking his head. “It’s so warm in here, compared to the rest of the apartment. I don’t mind the cold nearly as much. I’ll get the wine and nibbles and <em> you </em> run the bath, all right?”</p>
<p>“You know how to spoil me, angel,” Crowley murmured, tugging him close and kissing him. </p>
<p>“I enjoy spoiling you. I enjoy when we spoil each other,” he answered, nuzzling Crowley’s face for a moment before drawing back. “Do pick out some lovely bubbles for us,” he added, turning and slipping from the bathroom without bothering with clothes, or even a towel. </p>
<p>“Lovely bubbles,” Crowley repeated, shaking his head.</p>
<p>A sensual bath together, with wine and bite-sized food perfect for feeding each other, and his ridiculous, darling angel was more interested in some frou-frou scented bubbles than in the sensual potential of water and heat and proximity. Smiling to himself, he walked to the bathtub, turning on the jets and checking the thermostat, as he considered his options. He had a cabinet under the sink crammed full of bath products, a wide enough range to suit his varied, and often whimsical, moods. He had everything from lilac bubbles that left the skin covered in pink glitter to a musky-smelling oil that acted like Viagra on contact. Neither was quite right for a romantic bath with <em> Aziraphale</em>, but after a few moment’s consideration, he decided on sandalwood infused salts, dumping a generous quantity into the bubbling water, immediately filling the room with the heady, earthy scent.</p>
<p>“Oh, that smells just delightful!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he returned to the bathroom, carrying a tray with wine, the pastries, and a little dish of chocolates.   </p>
<p>“Where did those come from?” Crowley asked, relieving him of the tray and setting it on the ledge next to the bath. </p>
<p>“I got them in Mexico.”</p>
<p>“Tell me you didn’t just pop ‘round to Mexico like <em> that</em>,” Crowley laughed, smirking at Aziraphale. </p>
<p>His angel: naked, dusted with gooseflesh, and now wearing a shocked grin and giggling helplessly. Aziraphale was, as always, just stunning. Pale and just round enough, his skin was featureless except for the nipples and belly-button that he’d added thousands of years ago, so he wouldn’t be stared at in the age of social bathing. He’d never bothered with chest or leg hair, let alone hair between his legs, which seemed a shame when it was bound to be as soft and inviting as the hair haloing his gorgeous, smiling face. It wasn’t fair how beautiful the angel was, or how much Crowley wanted him. Aziraphale had given so much of himself already, nervously but willingly. Ungrudgingly. And Crowley always felt so greedy when he found himself wanting more than they already had. At least until the moment that Aziraphale shyly proffered whatever it was that Crowley had been longing for, then he just felt a powerful sense of relief and validation. </p>
<p>And gratitude. Always gratitude that he was being invited to share some new intimacy with his angel. At first, they’d only dared offer each other crumbs of friendship: a meal, or a night sharing drinks together. Much later, a night of mutual grooming, then the gift of a pristine feather, had changed everything. It had freed them, led to more grooming, to nights spent together holding and kissing each other. He’d held the angel in his arms and taught him how to craft a nebula and, somehow, that had led to Aziraphale revealing his virginity and asexuality, which only cleared away what could have become an obstacle. He’d lost count of the number of times since that they’d spent hours together, naked in each other’s arms, sometimes grooming and sometimes just reveling in being close. Crowley had promised to take things at as slow a pace as Aziraphale needed, and he always would, even if it meant things never going further than chaste kisses and platonic embraces while he sometimes literally <em> ached </em>for more.</p>
<p>Still, some impulses were meant to be resisted, or at least to not to be given in to until one was sure the time was right. So, dragging his eyes back up to Aziraphale’s for a moment, then looking down at the tray, he asked, “Why were you hiding expensive chocolate, that looks like it’s been decorated with silver leaf, in my flat?”</p>
<p>“I was saving it for a special occasion,” he answered, smiling warmly at Crowley and, being his usual, discreet self, not mentioning how long Crowley’s eyes had lingered on his body. “And… I was hiding them in <em> my </em> flat. Which is quite cold compared to yours, so, if we could?” he added, gesturing to the steaming tub of water and, now that Crowley was really focusing on his body-language rather than just his body, obviously doing his best not to shiver. </p>
<p>“Angel!” he protested, hurrying to his side and hustling him towards the bath. “You must be freezing. Come on.” </p>
<p>Smile warm and trusting, Aziraphale let himself be helped down the steps into the hot water and, when it seemed like the sudden heat might be uncomfortable for him after being in such cold air only a moment ago, Crowley cupped his hands and scooped up water, drizzling it over Aziraphale’s chest and back to warm his skin slowly.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s just wonderful, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed, eyelids fluttering slightly as he gifted Crowley with a rather foggy smile. “I do so love when you take this kind of care of me,” he added, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist and leaning close. “Or any kind. You’re always so tender with me, so gentle and considerate.” </p>
<p>“I… I just like doing nice things for you,” Crowley pointed out, kissing his shoulder and continuing to warm his broad back with a careful cascade of water. </p>
<p>Aziraphale was silent for a moment, then murmured against Crowley’s cheek, “And I quite like that I’m no longer afraid to <em> let </em>you. My dear, you’ve taught me how wonderful it is not to feel afraid and guilty every moment.” </p>
<p>“It suits you,” he answered, drawing back and gently smoothing down the angel’s damp, silky hair. “You’re beautiful like this. Come on,” he added, taking Aziraphale’s hands and urging him over to the ledge running around the inside of the bathtub, making him sit.</p>
<p>“You always call me that,” Aziraphale answered, settling down and tugging Crowley down next to him. “And I know you mean it; I can feel that you do. I’m still not sure I understand why,” he added, biting his lip. “But I’m glad you feel that way. I’m glad I make you happy. You deserve it.” </p>
<p>Up to their chins in warm water, naked and vulnerable in other ways, too, Crowley slid closer, wrapping his arms around what had to be the most huggable waist in Creation and kissing Aziraphale’s shoulder. </p>
<p>“You do make me happy, angel. I can’t describe all the little ways…” Crowley trailed off, groaning and shaking his head. </p>
<p>“We make<em> each other </em> happy,” Aziraphale corrected him gently, nuzzling his cheek and then leaning back to open the wine and fill their glasses. “And I can’t tell you how much more confident you’ve helped me become. Not very long ago at all, I would have considered all this--” He gestured around, smiling at Crowley before continuing, “Why, arguments could be made for sloth, gluttony, arguably even lust despite my lack of attributes.” At Crowley’s raised eyebrow, he blushed a bit, biting his lip for a moment before pointing out, “You know how much pleasure I derive from being near you, touching you…”</p>
<p>“You do,” Crowley agreed, kissing his shoulder again, then the corner of his mouth. </p>
<p>Sighing with pleasure, Aziraphale set the wine down and turned into the kiss, smiling. “My love,” the angel whispered, pressing kiss after gentle kiss to Crowley’s lips. “Oh, how did I ever do without this?”</p>
<p>“Without what?” he countered, laughing softly at his sentimental lover. “Snogging in the bath?”</p>
<p>“Snogging <em> you </em>, as you well know, wily serpent,” he clarified. “Being close to you. Being open with you,” he added, scoping up a handful of fragrant water and letting it drip between his fingers. “All this. I love it. We should have a proper bath together soon.”</p>
<p>“Proper?” Crowley protested, gaping and sputtering a bit as he gestured around a bathroom that even a wealthy human would have considered insanely posh, then to the oversized hot tub of a bath they were sitting in. “What do you call all this, then?”</p>
<p>“We should have a<em> proper </em> bath,” Aziraphale repeated, dropping his lips to kiss Crowley’s shoulder again, then to nuzzle his throat. “With oil,” he clarified, tone lazy and peaceful as he kissed his way up Crowley’s neck.</p>
<p>“Oil?” he repeated, swallowing hard and forcing himself to breathe.</p>
<p>“Mhmm. <em> Oil. </em> Drizzled on, rubbed in, scraped off after a long steambath…”</p>
<p>Crowley’s tongue darted out automatically at that, and he cleared his throat, drawing several deep breaths that he didn’t need to compose himself. Aziraphale wasn’t teasing him, couldn’t be. Could he? They’d visited dozens of bathhouses, hundreds of times together over the millennia and never shared anything particularly erotic at any but, now, they could have done, if they’d wanted. Was Aziraphale hinting at the possibility? <em> Offering? </em></p>
<p>“You… I didn’t think you enjoyed the thermae that much.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t. Too many slaves, and too many people giving me sideways looks for always wearing a cloth around my middle,” Aziraphale answered quietly, kissing the corner of Crowley’s mouth again. “I enjoyed the baths themselves, naturally, the ritual and sensuality of them. But it was hard not to feel awkward, needing to cover myself, knowing that others were speculating. But it wouldn’t be like that now.”</p>
<p>“No. For one thing you’ll never need to cover yourself for me, or hide anything. Not any part of you,” Crowley promised, lifting a hand to cup that soft, smooth cheek, dimpled now with one of his angel’s breathtaking smiles. Sighing, he rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s, smiling at him and basking in the light of intriguing eyes that never seemed to be the same shade twice. “We can do a Roman-style bath soon, or anything else you want.”</p>
<p>“Anything? Well, now you mention it, I hear the Swedes spend hours relaxing naked in saunas, then run outside and roll around in the snow afterwards.”</p>
<p>“Anything but <em> that</em>!” Crowley laughed, splashing the lovable bastard with water and giving him a playful shrug. “I draw the line at rolling around naked in a bunch of frozen water crystals!”</p>
<p>Expression impossibly innocent, Aziraphale held up both hands, demurring, “I imagine your poor bits wouldn’t know quite how to cope.” </p>
<p>“You leave my bits out of this!” Crowley squawked, then choked because… </p>
<p>He couldn’t recall the angel ever having mentioned his ‘bits’ before, certainly not so directly or playfully. It was shocking. Wonderful, but arresting, too.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I’d enjoy rolling around in the snow very much, either,” Aziraphale admitted, obviously either unwilling or unable to carry the joke further. “At any rate, I’ll always prefer to keep you warm and cozy, my love.”</p>
<p>“Good, because I do my best work while warm and cozy.”</p>
<p>“So I’ve noticed. Here, will you have some wine?” Aziraphale offered, picking up a glass and bringing it to Crowley’s lips. </p>
<p>He chuckled at that, obediently sipping the crisp white and smiling at the angel over the top of the glass. “I know I’ve already said this, but you’re going to completely spoil me.”</p>
<p>“Well, as long as I do it <em> completely</em>, my love,” he answered, in a low tone that made Crowley sure that he hadn’t been imagining <em> any </em> of the earlier teasing. </p>
<p>Fortunately, before his brain could screech to an utter halt at the idea of Aziraphale being that blatant in his flirtation, over that extended a period, more alcohol was tilted into his mouth. Sharing alcohol with his angel was safe ground, at least. Familiar. So little was familiar these days, and even less was safe. And Crowley had never, not once in his existence, enjoyed ‘unsafe’ as much as he had lately.</p>
<p>But wine was good, too. Familiarity and safety and routine were as warm and soothing as they always had been. A lot had changed, but not the comfort they could take in each other. That would never change. He accepted a few more sips, then leaned in to steal a kiss, plucking the glass from Aziraphale’s hand and setting it aside.</p>
<p>“Angel,” Crowley whispered against his lips, tangling a hand in his silky hair. “We need to take more baths together…”</p>
<p>“We do,” Azirapahle agreed, leaning back against the edge of the tub and beaming up at Crowley. “I’ve been so happy these last few months, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Me, too,” he answered, not elaborating. </p>
<p>Some things were harder than others to explain, not just because it was difficult to find words that didn’t make him sound like the worst kind of sap, but because some confessions were just painful. Fully explaining why he was so happy now would involve alluding to how miserable he’d been before. Even if he’d been willing to jeopardize the current, peaceful mood by opening that can of worms, their past was so much less important than their present. Nothing mattered nearly as much as the fact that they were together now, because they were free to be, and because they had <em> chosen </em> each other. Though it had seemed impossible not too long ago, he had chosen Aziraphale and Aziraphale had chosen him.</p>
<p>Crowley had spent most of his existence suffering under a deep, perpetual chill. He’d never actually grown accustomed enough to entirely ignore the feeling, not in thousands of years. He wasn’t often uncomfortable, but the sensation always lurked in the dark corners of his awareness. But, when he thought of this, of the fact that <em> Aziraphale had chosen him</em>, warmth filled him, from the center of his chest right out to his fingers and toes. Laughing with pure, joyful relief, he swooped forward, capturing Aziraphale’s face in both hands and kissing him firmly. The angel smiled against his lips, making a pleased, questioning sound and lifting a hand to Crowley’s chest, resting it over his heart.</p>
<p>“My love,” the angel whispered between firm, lazy kisses. He eventually broke contact, turning his head slightly to nuzzle Crowley’s cheek, breath tickling the sensitive skin as he told Crowley, “I could never have come this far without your patience, or your friendship. Especially your friendship. You taught me that there was nothing wrong with loving, or letting myself be loved.”</p>
<p>“Took you long enough,” Crowley chuckled, turning and resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s and losing himself in those impossibly deep eyes. “But it was worth the wait. <em> You </em> were worth the wait.” </p>
<p>“I didn’t know that this was what I was longing for, not until I already held it in my hands,” his angel murmured, always a poet at heart. “But it was more than worth all the fear and anxiety we had to endure. This world we’ve created for ourselves was worth turning our backs on Heaven and Hell for.” </p>
<p>“Mmm,” he agreed, smiling and kissing the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth again. “Let’s have a snack?” he suggested, before his mind could wander to ways that he and his angel might have expressed their joy in each other, and their defiance against those who had kept them apart for so long. Because, God above, he sometimes wanted to take Aziraphale out to the nearest warm, empty field, and simply indulge, to delight in his angel’s body and teach his angel how to do the same. Again and again, under the eyes of Heaven and rattling the foundations of Hell. Just to show the bastards. </p>
<p>But it was still far too early for that. </p>
<p>Fortunately, Aziraphale was easily distracted. “Oh, yes, a snack sounds lovely!” he exclaimed, leaning back to select a square of chocolate from the little bowl. “You’ll like these; I picked them out especially for you.”</p>
<p>Crowley eyed the offered confection dubiously, noting that the stylized flower on top was indeed silver leaf, and hand-applied judging from the artistic imperfection of it. He didn’t like overly-sweet things, as a general rule, not unless one counted Aziraphale, but the chocolate looked dark enough not to be cloying, and smelled intriguingly bitter. And, of course, there was the undeniable appeal of the fact that it had been selected, just for him, by a man who had spent thousands of years refining his own palate and taking note of Crowley’s. It was, if nothing else, bound to be a very interesting experience. Smiling, Crowley reached for it, smile slipping as Aziraphale pulled his hand out of reach.</p>
<p>He frowned in confusion, then gaped as it clicked for him. “You want to… feed it to me?” he asked, frowning uneasily.</p>
<p>“I thought I might,” Aziraphale answered, expression faintly cautious. “Why shouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Because, if you do, I will have no choice but to lick those perfectly-manicured fingers clean and then do to them what I’ve been aching to do to the rest of your body. </em>
</p>
<p>Sighing and clamping down hard on that idea, and all the attendant images, Crowley forced himself to smile lazily, giving a little shrug. “No reason.”</p>
<p>The angel stared up at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, eyes wide and lips just slightly parted. Then he swallowed hard, clearing his throat and slowly pressing the square of chocolate to Crowley’s lips. </p>
<p>“Nygh?” Crowley managed, lips parting automatically under the slight pressure of the chocolate. It wasn’t being forced into his mouth, but it was being… urged on him very persuasively. His lips tingled where the chocolate touched, and he almost laughed at the realization that this was what it felt like to be properly Tempted: just shown something you badly wanted, and invited to take it. Except… he found himself not wanting to Take but to Accept, so he just parted his lips a bit more, locking eyes with his generous angel and nodding faintly in acceptance of both the chocolate and the gesture it was being used to make. Aziraphale looked shy, nervous, and so very eager as he fed the chocolate to Crowley.</p>
<p>There was, of course, nothing at all in any way symbolic about having something firm and smooth pressed between his lips. Nothing meaningful about his eyes slamming shut the moment bitterness exploded onto the tip of his tongue. Definitely nothing familiar in the way that the bitterness was almost instantly soothed away by a gentle tang of salt. Nothing at all in any way reminiscent of any other experience. </p>
<p>Even if it was going to take him several bottles of something <em> much </em> stronger than Riesling to convince himself of the fact.</p>
<p>He took a moment to compose himself, drawing a shaky breath and slowly opening his eyes. Bad move. Aziraphale was staring at him, eyes wide, face pink, and lower lip clutched fetchingly between his perfect teeth. He stared at Crowley, looking like he couldn’t believe his own daring and was mortified with himself. Yet also looking like he wanted nothing more than to repeat the experiment. </p>
<p>“Are you all right?” Crowley whispered, resisting the urge to laugh since, if anyone was about to discorporate from sheer nerves, it wasn’t the angel. </p>
<p>Aziraphale opened his mouth, a soft near-whimper escaping him before he closed his mouth, nodding instead of speaking. The poor man, pupils dilated, cheeks flush, breath coming rapidly, was obviously overwhelmed. But, at the same time, he was all but quivering with, if not need, then with anticipation. </p>
<p>“Just breathe, angel,” he whispered, forcing himself to follow his own advice. “We’ll take a minute. We’ll take as long as you need,” he promised. </p>
<p>That seemed to be all Aziraphale needed to hear. He smiled, letting out a soft huff of breath, and relaxing visibly. He reached for Crowley’s hands, fingers tangling together. “You are so good,” he whispered, smiling warmly. “So dear and kind.” </p>
<p>“Watch with the four-letter words!” Crowley protested, struggling not to blush.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s smile softened, and turned achingly warm as he leaned in and breathed in Crowley’s ear, “You’re nice, too. Very nice. And fair.”  </p>
<p>“Fair?” Crowley laughed, pulling back and staring at him in shock. </p>
<p>“Oh, yes. Fair: pale and lovely and beautiful. My gorgeous, generous, sweet-hearted love.”</p>
<p>Something happened in Crowley’s chest, something hot and intense, and as horrible as it was beautiful.</p>
<p>“Don’t!” he protested, looking away. “Stop,” he directed quietly, shaking his head. “Too many compliments.” </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Aziraphale relented immediately, cupping his cheek in one soft, strong hand. “I’ll stop,” he promised. “I just want you to know how dear you are to me.” </p>
<p>“I know, angel, it’s just…”</p>
<p>“I understand,” he soothed, pressing his lips to Crowley’s temple. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.” He was silent for a moment, then offered, “Will you have a bit more chocolate? Do you like it? I wasn’t dreadfully fond when I sampled it, but it struck me as just right for you.”</p>
<p>“It’s perfect. Rich, but not too sweet,” he answered, gratefully seizing on the distraction and forcing himself to ignore the underlying affection and generosity of Aziraphale buying chocolates he hadn’t enjoyed, just because he thought Crowley might. That was… That was the kind of thing human lovers did. “You said you picked them up in Mexico? I didn’t think you’d been recently?”</p>
<p>“I made a special trip last week to pick these up. I discovered the confectioner several years ago, while I was there attending a book fair. I’ve been back a few times since. The shop’s been owned by the same family for decades now. Uses all local ingredients, always has.”</p>
<p>“The concept of ‘local ingredients’ becomes a bit relative when a guy from Heaven, living in London, drops by Mexico on a whim to pick up a box of chocolates,” he laughed, reaching for another only to have his hand swatted away. </p>
<p>Pulling a face to hide his own surprisingly pleasant flutter of anxiety, Crowley obediently opened his mouth again, heart fluttering as Aziraphale daintily fed him another piece of chocolate. With anyone else, it would have turned into the most blatant kind of foreplay. With his angel, it became something different, something new. Something wonderful. </p>
<p>It was just… Aziraphale taking care of him. Not because Crowley needed to be taken care of, but because Aziraphale enjoyed it, on a level entirely different from the one on which he enjoyed taking care of everyone else. And Crowley, who had spent thousands of years doing favors and offering little gifts, all the while acting like he never needed anything himself, found it badly overwhelming to be on the receiving end of such attention himself. Because Aziraphale knew now. He had realized that ‘let me buy you lunch’ or ‘here try this’ had always been part of Crowley’s secret language, a language where bringing a forkful of food to the angel’s lips was an expression of love more pointed than any stolen kiss could ever have been. </p>
<p>They were finally speaking the same language, and Aziraphale wasn’t bothering to be subtle in his choice of syntax. </p>
<p>“No, no more,” Crowley whispered, shaking his head as the angel reached for another piece of chocolate. It was too much, too quickly. It was all good, but too much good was still <em> too much</em>. “Can we, uh… I mean…”</p>
<p>“Of course, my love,” Aziraphale murmured, sliding close and wrapping his arms around Crowley. “There.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he sighed, turning into the embrace and pressing his nose into the angel’s throat, just drinking in his scent in an attempt to calm himself. </p>
<p>“Are you all right, my dear one?” he asked, lifting a hand to stroke Crowley’s hair. </p>
<p>“Fine. Just need this for a second.”</p>
<p>“Here,” Aziraphale whispered, shifting position slightly and gathering Crowley more fully into his arms. </p>
<p>It probably should have been embarrassing, the way the angel virtually folded Crowley up and tucked him onto his lap, but it felt too good for him to complain. Strong arms, holding him in a tender embrace against a softly welcoming stomach and chest. Crowley turned his head, just enough to tuck his face between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, then let himself melt under the angel’s care. It wasn’t a luxury he allowed himself often, and he didn’t think he ever had in the light of day. It was peaceful, safe, and something he’d been longing for since the literal beginning of time, without even knowing it was what he’d been needing. It was still a lot to cope with, but it overwhelmed him in a gentler, more subtle way.</p>
<p>Aziraphale gently stroked Crowley’s hair as they rested together in silence. After a short, blissful eternity, he asked, “Oh, are you letting it grow out again?”</p>
<p>He nodded, not lifting his face from Aziraphale’s soft skin, unwilling to relinquish the familiar scent of sunshine and vellum for even one second. No real need to explain that Aziraphale had made an offhand comment a few weeks ago that he quite liked long hair on Crowley, so he’d decided to stop having it cut. The bastard angel must have realized that would happen, even if he sounded pleasantly surprised by it. The whole situation, admittedly, was very them. </p>
<p><em> Would you please? Oh! Oh, </em> <b> <em>thank you</em></b><em>! </em> That last bit always spoken with such genuine delight, as if he hadn’t been sure if a simple request and those enormous eyes would be enough to convince Crowley. He had Crowley wrapped around his exquisitely-manicured pinkie and had for millennia, but he never took it for granted, never took Crowley for granted. Which meant every smile and every grateful word from Aziraphale were honest and full of unfeigned joy and affection. </p>
<p>Smiling, Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s shoulder, resisting the urge to taste the angel’s soft, fragrant skin. Whatever passing fancies he’d had earlier today, whatever fantasies he’d nurtured in the past, this was better than any of them, better than all of them combined. It could wait, or never happen at all. It didn’t matter. Right now, all he needed was to sate himself on this sense of peace and shelter, and on the sensation of strong fingers lightly stroking his hair. He wasn’t sure how long had passed, but he yawned, burying it in Aziraphale’s throat and blushing a little at the realization that he’d lulled more than halfway into sleep. Considering how seldom his angel sat perfectly still without a book in his hand, he felt a little sheepish over having detained him, even if Aziraphale certainly would have let him know if he’d been growing restless. </p>
<p>“Let’s wrap this up?” Crowley suggested, lifting his head and nuzzling Aziraphale’s cheek. “It’s too early for bed, but we can curl up on the sofa?”</p>
<p>“Or in front of your fireplace?” he suggested, smiling brightly. “It’s so much bigger than mine.”</p>
<p>“Angel, when will you learn?” he teased. “It’s not the size of the fireplace, it’s the intensity of the flames.” </p>
<p>Tutting primly, Aziraphale informed him, “I am going to pretend that wasn’t meant to be a crude metaphor.” It would have been more convincing if his eyes hadn’t been sparkling, or if his plump lips hadn’t been twitching at the corners. “But a roaring blaze does sound lovely. We’ll lay down some pillows and dry off that way.” </p>
<p>“Sensualist,” Crowley snorted, easing off his lap. </p>
<p>“Hardly a new revelation, my dear,” he answered, stepping from the tub and picking up their tray. </p>
<p>Trust him not to forget the snacks. Or the alcohol. One more reason for Crowley to love him. Grinning, he followed Aziraphale from the bathroom and into his bedroom, where a judicious miracle from the angel had everything ready for them. The fireplace, gas as opposed to Aziraphale’s old-fashioned wood burning setup, was going at full capacity, bathing the room in heat and a flickering glow. And, in front of it, a nest of pillows and blankets larger than some beds had appeared. The angel set the tray on the floor next to their nest, standing in front of the screen and giving a little wiggle of delight before turning to Crowley and offering his hands. </p>
<p>“We’ll have a fine rest of the afternoon here, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Crowley whispered, slipping his fingers into Aziraphale’s and stepping close. “But I may fall asleep on you. Do you want a book?” </p>
<p>“That’s probably a good idea,” he admitted, snapping his fingers and peering critically down at the volume that appeared in his hand for a moment before smiling. “Perfect.” </p>
<p>“Anyone I know?” Crowley asked, kneeling on a cushion and refilling their wine glasses. </p>
<p>“Le Guin,” he answered as he settled down, laying the book aside and turning to arrange the cushions to his satisfaction. “Oh, doesn’t the fire feel lovely, darling?” he asked, leaning back against the pile of pillows he’d created for himself and opening his arms. </p>
<p>“Gorgeous.” Smiling and nodding, Crowley ignored the invitation, studying the pastries they’d made earlier. “They never come out looking like they do on the television, do they?” he asked, picking up a little pear tartlet and studying it for a moment before bringing it to Aziraphale’s lips. </p>
<p>Making a happy noise, the angel obediently took a bite of the confection, eyelids fluttering. “Mmm. Oh, that’s…” He paused, chewing and swallowing before admitting, “They may not<em> look </em> very good, but they certainly came out well otherwise,” he declared, nodding and beaming up at Crowley, his cheeks a bit pink. </p>
<p>“Here, angel,” he whispered, proffering the rest. It was just the right size to be devoured in two bites, or shared between two people. But Crowley wasn’t in the mood to indulge in more sweets, and Aziraphale certainly seemed to have enjoyed his first taste. “Eat up,” he directed.</p>
<p>Aziraphale obeyed, delicately accepting the rest of the treat, then, when he had swallowed it down, kissing the crumbs from Crowley’s fingertips. “Mmm, delightful.”</p>
<p>“Would you like another?” he offered, fingers tingling where they’d been kissed. </p>
<p>“No, I think we’ll have the rest later, with a different wine,” he declared, leaning back and opening his arms again. “Besides, right now, I just want to hold you.”</p>
<p>“Turning down a dessert? What’s gotten into you?” Crowley chuckled, snuggling close and resting his cheek against Aziraphale’s chest. </p>
<p>“Careful, my love,” Aziraphale warned, pressing his face against the top of Crowley’s head for a moment before speaking again. “You’ll force me to start quoting overwrought poetry at you.” </p>
<p>“Eurg, anything but that!” he protested, turning his head and pressing his face against the angel’s shoulder. “Just say I’m tastier than any dessert and let us get back to the naked cuddling.” </p>
<p> “Well, I will confess that cuddling with you is preferable to eating hand-made pastries. By a small, but significant, margin.” </p>
<p>“I’m flattered,” Crowley snorted, reveling in the contrast between the merciless heat of the fire on one side and his angel’s smooth, cool skin on the other. As Aziraphale had joked when comparing Crowley with homemade desserts, in this case, too, one was just slightly better than the other.</p>
<p>In the same way that Jupiter was just slightly larger than Pluto…</p>
<p>“Look at us, my love,” Aziraphale whispered, lifting a hand to stroke his hair again. “I still barely know how any of this came to be, but I’m so glad it has. Thank you for being patient with me.” </p>
<p>“Let’s not have that conversation again,” he advised, smiling and nuzzling his lover’s chest. </p>
<p>“No,” he agreed. “I don’t want anything to interfere with this moment. It’s so cold and nasty out, and so warm and lovely here with you, Crowley.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale didn’t speak after that, and a comfortable silence settled over the room, broken only by the occasional soft sigh, or the rustle of an angel’s fingers brushing softly over the hair of a former demon. Crowley closed his eyes, snuggling close, holding and being held, and absolutely reveling in all of it. Aziraphale’s words hadn’t applied just to this afternoon, but to their entire relationship. Let the rest of the world be chilly and unforgiving. Between the two of them, there was no room for anything other than warmth and amity, and there never would be again.</p>
<p>He wasn’t an idiot. He knew their relationship, like any between two strong-willed souls, would have its ups and downs, bad times to go along with the good ones. But how could that matter? How could <em> anything </em> matter other than the peace and security they found in each other’s arms? </p>
<p>There was a phrase humans used, something about a cold day in Hell. Very few of them understood that Hell was not uniformly hot. Dante had been wrong in almost every major respect, but he had managed to stumble on to that one truth. Hell was very cold in places, the kind of cold that got into your bones and stayed there for centuries after you’d relocated yourself to Earth. He’s spent thousands of years in the Middle East and Mediterranean, lolling next to fires and basking in the midday sun at every possible opportunity to try to dispel that feeling. But he’d never known real warmth, not until the first time Aziraphale gathered him close and refused to relinquish his gentle hold. </p>
<p>It was an admission that probably made him the worst kind of sap, but being a sap was just fine with Crowley, who knew full well that a certain angel was excessively fond of sweet things.</p>
<p>
  <b>THE END</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A reverse farmer's tan is the only kind of farmer's tan Crowley will ever have. </p>
<p>Thanks again for reading! Remember, feedback is love!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>